Eight months ago
I parked a block away from Growler’s rental house and headed to the beach. He said they were to the left of the Thirty-Fourth Street lifeguard stand. He was supposed to tell his mom I was coming to hang, like, a half hour ago, just so she wouldn’t be that mad when she saw me.
I took off my sneakers and socks and left them at the top of the stairs. Walking on the beach with shoes on was for dorks. I spotted Growler and his mom down by the water.
“What are you doing here?” his mom said when she saw me. Not exactly in a nice way either.
“Hey, Mrs. Fulton,” I said. I could tell by her pinched face that Growler hadn’t softened the blow.
“Oh crap, Vance. S-sorry,” he bumbled and hopped up from his chair. “Mom, I forgot to tell you that Vance was coming to hang on the beach for the day.” He turned to me and mouthed, “Sorry.”
I punched his shoulder and mouthed, “Fuck you.”
“Hello, Vance.” Growler’s mother pulled her beach chair up to a sitting position and gave me a once-over. “And your father just let you drive down here by yourself? Does he even know where you are?”
Wow. Hostile. “Yes. He knows.” I forced a smile, trying to pile on the charm.
“I suppose it’ll be all right,” she said, her lips tight. “You’re only staying the day?”
“You could stay overnight, right, Vance? Didn’t your dad say it was cool if you stayed over?” Growler needed to chill out. He was ruining the whole plan. Sleeping over was supposed to be her idea.
I watched his mom’s expression. She winced. Shit. I was driving home tonight.
She said, “Let’s play it by ear, gentlemen.”
Perhaps the deal wasn’t dead yet.
“We’re gonna get something to eat, Mom,” Growler said. He flicked his head and started walking.
“Thanks, Mrs. Fulton.” She had already laid her chair back, so all I got was a wave.
As soon as we were far enough away, I said, “Dude, you almost blew it. Nice going.”
“My parents got into a wicked fight this morning before my dad left. That’s why she’s extra salty. I forgot to ask her. But she’ll cave. She always does.”
We climbed the steps to the boardwalk. “You mom really hates me now, doesn’t she?”
Growler stomps the sand from his feet. “She’s definitely still mad about the whole drinking thing.”
I had a perfect way to wipe his mom from my head. “Wanna smoke before we eat? I packed the glass bowl.”
“Dumb question.” Growler punches my shoulder. “My rental is right there. The house with the red roof.”
“Your mom won’t pop in to check on you?”
Growler shook his head. “She thinks we’re eating. And she doesn’t leave the beach until sundown.”
We walked to his house and headed up steps to the wraparound deck, and he unlocked the door. This was a different house than they had rented the last few summers. “Whoa,” I said. “This place is nice!”
“My dad got a huge bonus this year so we splurged on a house close to the beach. It’s sweet, right?”
Hardwood floors, leather sofas, skylights, and a huge open kitchen. “It’s sick.”
“Will’s not even here till tomorrow night. He’s finishing up a summer course. You could sleep in his room.”
Granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances, massive coffeemaker—this place was unreal. But I knew what would make this house even better. I pulled out the bowl. “Let’s smoke.”
“Outside. There’s a gigantic shower. It’s private, and the smoke’ll just float away.”
Growler wasn’t kidding. The outside shower area was bigger than my bedroom at home, and it was tucked underneath the house. All the newer houses at the shore had to be up on wooden pilings so the houses wouldn’t get slammed by the big storms. “There’s even a light down here?” I said, amazed. I handed him the bowl and lighter.
He took a hit and passed it to me.
He blew the smoke straight up. “There’s a bonfire on the beach tonight. Wait until you see the girls, dude. They’re tan and hot.”
Who knew that things would get so messed up at that bonfire? Sure as hell not me.